


goodbye courage, hello sadness

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Developing Friendships, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Strangulation, Young Armitage Hux, Young Ben Solo, benarmie, force awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Ben and Armitage have both been kidnapped.Armitage knows it's likely no one will come after him. But if he can protect his newfound friend, then maybe his life will end up worth something after all.





	goodbye courage, hello sadness

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic, only to forget I have a hard time writing kids. So I'm not totally happy with the end result but...I also feel it'd be a waste to not post it? Just don't go in expecting anything amazing, because this ended up being kind of a slog to finish...
> 
> I'm sorry if I missed or messed up any canon details, I'm still fuzzy on some things! If anything is super glaring, I don't mind it being pointed out!

Armitage wakes from a tenuous sleep to the sound of the door scraping open. A moment later, the dim light above him buzzes on. He cringes and lifts his hand to shield his eyes, body tensing at the familiar _clomps_ of heavy boots. He pushes himself up from the grimy floor and rubs at his eyes, trying to clear them of sleep as shadows cut across the light above and cast over him.

The biggest, meanest-looking brute, who Armitage has nicknamed “Scumbreath“ as a means to lighten up the situation, fills the doorframe with his shoulders. The greenish lighting above fails to illuminate him properly but Armitage can still see the ugly sneer on his face when their eyes meet. He swallows, keeping his gaze as steadfast as he can. Scumbreath snorts, nodding to one of the men standing behind him.

“Put the brat with this ‘un.”

His thinner associate, who Hux named “Lefty“ for the fact that he only has one hand, moves around Scumbreath. A fearful whine snaps Armitage’s attention down beneath the man’s arm, where he carries a small, struggling child like a sack of smuggler’s loot.

Armitage’s heart leaps in his chest but sinks a moment later, his interest at the side of someone who _isn’t_ one of his brutish captors squashed by the realization that this kid is probably another one of their victims. And he’s _a lot_ younger than Armitage is, at least by a couple years. He swallows, pressing himself up against the wall, wondering if they’ve snatched another because _his_ ransom still wasn’t exactly forthcoming.

Lefty laughs and tosses the boy onto the floor, where he skids his bare elbows against the floor. The men all laugh at the child’s crying, and Armitage almost worries they’ll lift one of those terribly heavy boots and stomp the little body into the ground. They’d done that when Armitage had first been tossed in here—he still has the scabs on his cheek to attest to that.

Thankfully, the boy’s sniveling seems to satisfy them for now, and they retreat. Scumbreath pulls the door shut behind him with a _slam_ , following by the familiar click of the lock settling into place. Then silence, nothing more than retreating footsteps and the waning sniffles of the boy on the floor. Armitage watches, unsure of what to do, as the boy slowly pushes himself up off the ground and looks at him through shabby bangs, wide brown eyes glistening with fear.

“W-Where am I?”

* * *

Ben had accidentally gotten lost. 

One minute he’d been walking through the bustling spaceport, hand firmly laced in his mother’s as he toddling along, doing his best to keep up. The next, a sudden surge of the crowd had forced them apart, and before Ben could spot his mother through all the hurrying legs and jostling bodies around him she was gone. He’d tried to run in the direction he’d thought she’d gone, only to get even more lost and distressed, to the point where he’d broken down in tears and plopped down on one of the spaceport’s benches.

He remembers a gruff voice asking him what was wrong with him, then taking his hand roughly. When Ben had struggled, the man had told him they were going to meet his mother, so he’d quieted, only growing fidgety when the man led him down a hallway with far less people, until they were completely alone.

Ben didn’t remember much after that, except waking up in some narrow, dingy hallway, hefted carelessly under someone’s arm. He tried struggling and kicking, even screaming, but he’d been unable to break free until they’d thrown him onto a hard floor where he’d skidded his knees through his pants.

It _hurts,_ and he’s scared, and he just wants to go home. He wants to see his Mom and Dad again. He’s sorry for all the times he was bad, or fussed whenever they had to go away. He doesn’t know what else to do but hopes maybe if he’s sorry enough his parents will come save him and take him away from here.

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose as he tries to push to his hands and knees, tries to be brave. As he does so he catches sight of a pair of legs tucked up against the floor and quickly lifts his head to find another boy in the same room, leaning up against the wall.

He looks taller than Ben but skinny, with pale skin and red hair that’s messily combed back. He’s dressed in some kind of weird uniform, like he’s one of Ben’s soldier toys, but it’s kind of dirty and torn at the cuffs. The look he sends Ben’s way is not quite sad and not quite scared—a look some of his mother’s acquaintances shoot him when he starts crying or fussing.

“W-Where am I?” He stutters out as he tries to sit down, his knees still smarting from the fall.

“Don’t know really. Feels like some sort of ship though.” The other boy places his hand on the ground. “It kinda moves and sounds like one.”

“A ship?” Ben squeaks. He’s been on transports before but only with one of his parents or a nanny at his side. Usually he would have a viewport to look out into space, so he could pass the time with some of his toys. He liked to hold the cruisers up to the transparisteel, pretend he was piloting them in some grand battle. “Why…why am I on a ship?”

The other boy bites his lower lip.

“‘Cause those guys captured you. They captured me too.”

“Captured?” Ben whines, looking about. Only bad people get captured. “But I didn’t do anything. I was just…I just wanted to find my mama!”

His voice echoes coldly about the room. It’s so small, a lot smaller than his bedroom back at home. Maybe a little bigger than his wardrobe but not by much. It leaves him with a tight feeling in his chest, breath coming a little fast.

“Hey, calm down okay?” Ben twitches at the sudden brush of fingers on his shoulders, vision growing a little dizzy from hyperventilation as he looks up.

The other boy looks less sad now and more worried, his eyebrows furrowed together as he uncertainly strokes Ben’s shoulder, like he doesn’t know if this will help calm him down. And it doesn’t immediately fix everything, but having someone else other than the mean men touch him helps him feel a little more safe.

“It’s alright. Just calm down.” The boy pats his shoulder, sitting on his knees next to Ben. “What is your name?” He speaks in kind of a funny way, real deliberate like he’s used to talking more to adults than kids.

“B-Ben…” He ekes out, hiccuping a bit but it’s getting a little easier to breath. He blinks rapidly, clearing the tears from his eyes.

“Ben, is that it? I’m Armitage.” Ben wrinkles his nose slightly. It’s kind of a weird name, and if he wasn’t still so scared he might’ve giggled.

“Arm…Armitudge…?” He fumbles, feeling a little embarrassed as his tongue struggles with the name. Thankfully Armitage doesn’t seem offended.

“If that’s too much you can call me…Armie, I guess? Or Tidge. Whichever is easier.”

“Armie…” Ben decides with a small nod. “Why…why did they take me here?”

“They want money from your parents. They’re gonna make them pay for you before they get you back.”

 _Money?_ Ben frowns, trying to connect the two things in his head. Sometimes his parents talk about money but he doesn’t quite understand it. He doesn’t know how much money he costs, but he hopes it’s not too much.

“So Mama and Dad are gonna come get me?” he asks, hopefully. Armitage purses his lips.

“I don’t…I can’t tell you for sure…”

“Oh…” Ben’s heart falls in his chest, suddenly worrying that his parents won’t want to come get him. They leave him alone a lot. Maybe they’re glad that he’s gone.

He shakes his head, trying not to think about it.

“I don’t like the mean men. They hurt my knees.” He still feels them stinging. Ben doesn’t want to roll up the cuffs of his pants to check on them, too scared of what he might see.

He hears Armitage let out a soft sigh as he brushes some of Ben’s messy hair off his face.

“Don’t worry, I…I’m the big kid around here. It’s okay. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“You’re not a lot bigger than me.”

“Bet I’m older than you, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben sticks out his lower lip. “How old?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve?” He balks. “But you’re so _skinny_. You’re not big enough to be twelve!”

Armitage frowns, and for a moment Ben worries he’s accidentally made him angry. But then his expression softens, teasing smile returning to his lips.

“And you’re _too big_ to be….however old you are.” Armitage furrows his brows in question, so Ben holds up a couple fingers proudly, waving them at him. He laughs. “Eight? _Stars_. What’re they feeding you?”

Ben blinks, a little confused. He plays with a lock of his hair that’s grown a bit longer than the others.

“Well, mama likes to make me flatcakes sometimes…” His stomach chooses that exact moment to gurgle rather loudly, as if reminded just now that food exists. He scrunches his face in embarrassment, pressing a hand to his middle.

“…I’m hungry…”

“Too bad I don’t think they’re gonna make us any flatcakes,” Armie says sadly, and licks his lips. He must be as hungry as Ben is. After all, he really does look skinny, though Ben doesn’t say that because it wouldn’t be nice, and Armie already looked upset when he messed up and did it the first time.

The last thing he wants to do is to upset his new friend.

* * *

Two days before Ben had joined him in the dingy little room, Armitage had found a knife on the floor.

Well—knife is maybe being generous. It’s honestly more of a slender piece of debris, shaved off the durasteel walls or knocked off a piece of equipment. The ship they’re on doesn’t seem particularly well-maintained, and the crew apparently didn’t bother to sweep through the room when they decided to use it to house their captives.

Armitage had hid the blade almost immediately upon finding it, for fear one of the men might notice it and take it away. With no furnishings in the room to speak of, he’d wound up tying it to his calf with a strip of fabric ripped from the cuff of his uniform. His pant leg covers the length entirely, and he just needs to be careful not to prick himself when he moves or changes position.

He hasn’t told Ben about it yet. He doesn’t want to scare the kid any more than he already is by showing him the mangled piece of rubble he’s chosen as his last desperate line of defense.

Ben seems like a nice enough kid, though Armitage is a little surprised when he finds out exactly _who_ his mother is. The name Leia Organa is familiar to him thanks to his father’s tirades, and though Armitage knew she had a son he would’ve never guessed this shy, soft-hearted little boy could be him.

Now that he knows who he is, Armitage should detest him, should withdraw all the comfort he’s already offered this child of the New Republic. His father would probably spare him a rare compliment if he snapped the boy’s neck as he slept, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but shun the very thought.

So he ends up lying a little when Ben asks him about his family. He doesn’t tell him that he sincerely doubts his father is coming for him. It’s been days already. Armitage honestly doesn’t fully know why their captors haven’t slit his throat and jettisoned him out into space yet, just to be done with it. _Especially_ now that they have the far more desirable son of Senator Organa in their clutches. 

But he’s grateful for it. If only because it means Ben doesn’t have to deal with this all alone.

* * *

Despite his earlier claims of hunger, Ben refuses to eat when the one-handed captor returns to feed them. Not that the meals they give them are necessarily appetizing—they’re usually little better than watery porridge or the congealed leftovers of old mess stew. Armitage doesn’t blame him for his reluctance but he’s learned to eat what’s given to him, if only to avoid further punishment. Ben doesn’t understand that, though, and when he refuses and Lefty grabs his face in an effort to try to pop his jaw open, Ben bites his finger.

The man yowls and shakes him off, before raising his hand and aiming to punch Ben in the cheek. Before he can, however, Armitage drops his bowl of gruel and lunges forward pulling Ben just out of range of strike. He wraps his arms around Ben’s shoulders and hides him as best as he can, glaring up at their captor.

He only closes his eyes in anticipation of the first blow, which bounces off his temple and sends stars exploding in his eyelids. He hears Ben whine and feels him struggle but holds tight, even when the hand, this time opened in a wide palm, slaps back across his cheek.

“Stupid _pfassking_ kids,” Lefty snarls, rubbing his bitten finger. Hux thinks he might go for another strike, but he shrugs, as if deciding its not worth the effort. He leaves with not another clear word but a lot of mumbled swearing, slamming the cell door shut behind him.

“Why did you do that?” Ben whimpers when he finally worms out of Armitage’s grasp, looking up at him with worry bare on his chubby face. Armitage sniffs, rubbing his injured cheek with his free hand. A little blood splotches his palm, but not too much.

“You’re a little kid, not gonna let them hit you.”

“I’m not a baby!” Ben insists, one little hand curling into a fist. “And I don’t want them to hurt you neither!”

“Yeah? Well, tough. I’m the oldest, I know what’s best.” Armitage counters, pulling his fingers away from the wound. There’s bound to be swelling and the skin is a bit abraded thanks to the man’s long nails, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. Ben, however, seems thoroughly shaken by the sight.

“Mama always fixes up my ouches. She’d fix yours too if she was here…” His eyes fall from the wound on Armitage’s cheek, his shoulder shaking again. He can sense Ben’s about to break out into tears again, memories of his mother disturbing what little strength he’s managed to build up.

Ben rubs his fist against his eyes, trying to clear away the tears bubbling over his cheeks. Armitage’s stomach turns awkwardly, not used to anyone crying around him. He himself had stopped crying years back, after realizing it’d only anger his father further. And any cadet caught crying at the Academy wouldn’t make it too long without getting culled by his classmates.

But Ben isn’t like that. He hasn’t been conditioned to repress himself the way Armitage has, and so he lets Ben rest on his shoulder as the boy rubs his streaming eyes and nose against the scuffed material of his uniform. At first, Armitage recoils, but his clothes have already been dirtied by this entire ordeal, so he figures it’s already a lost cause. His father will most likely be more angry with him for getting kidnapped and wasting his time than ruining his uniform.

And—honestly—in this moment he cares more about Ben than what his father thinks.

“I’m sorry.” Ben pipes up after a moment, wiping his nose with his hand. “I shouldn’t cry so much. I’m sorry…”

“It’s…it’s okay…” Armitage whispers, his arm coming to wrap around Ben’s waist and pull him closer. He’s never done anything like this before—never been placed in the position to comfort another person—but he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t understand the benefits of a _hug_ , especially for a little kid like Ben.

Armitage’s stomach grumbles, reminding him of the porridge he’d accidentally upturned onto the cell’s floor in his haste to protect Ben. Their captors don’t feed him all that often, and he’s almost tempted to scrape the meal up off the floor and eat it just so ease the gnawing hunger inside of him, but he doesn’t want Ben to see that. He needs to look strong for his sake.

Armitage tilts his head to the side, looking down at the mop of dark hair nuzzling against his shoulder.

“You like treats, Ben?”

“Y-Yeah? I guess…”

“What’s your favorite kind?”

“Um…” Ben lifts his head slightly off of Armitage’s shoulder, hitching breaths slowly calming. “There’s a lot.”

“Pick one.”

Ben scrunches up his face, thinking. After a moment, a little smile flitters over his lips.

“I know…sometimes when Mama comes back from one of her trips, she brings me these things…” Ben mimes a round shape with his little hand. “They’re really sweet like fruit but covered in jelly!”

“Jelly, huh?” Armitage thinks he might’ve heard the cadets at the Academy talking about a treat like that, though he’d never seen one personally. “That sounds really tasty.”

“It is! The pink ones are my favorite. They’re the best nice.”

Ben unconsciously cuddles in closer to Armitage’s side.

“The paper they’re wrapped in looks like fruit too. It’s folded all pretty. I wanna learn how to fold like that.” The smile on Ben’s face blossoms. “Mama says I can learn after I finish writing lessons.”

Armitage raises an eyebrow.

“Writing lessons?” A boy Ben’s age should already know how to write, shouldn’t he? He himself had learned when he was only five.

“Like…fancy writing.” Ben draws a couple loops in the air. “With a special brush and everything.”

“Ah.” Armitage understands. “You mean calligraphy, right?”

“ _Mmhm!_ That’s it!” Ben nods, obviously excited about the prospect. Such flouncy techniques would’ve been thoroughly derided by Armitage’s father, who stuck staunchly to the flat efficiency of data pads.

They fall into silence after that. Armitage wishes they had something more to distract themselves from he droning hum of the ship beneath them and the never fading dread of their captor’s next move. He feels Ben curl up a little besides him, dropping his head back against his shoulder.

“I wish Mama was here…Dad too…I miss them.”

This is the first time Ben has mentioned his father. Armitage knew of him vaguely—the rogueish smuggler-turned Republican **official** , again so far removed from the delicate little boy seated next to him. He gives Ben’s shoulder a **soft squeeze.**

“They’re going to come get you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah,” Ben nods, then pats the arm wrapped around him. “Your dad is gonna come for you too, Armie.”

Armitage’s heart pulls. He can’t bring himself to say anything more, either to maintain or refute the lie, so they lapse into silence again as he loses himself in his thoughts. He wonders, not for the first time since his kidnapping, what his father might be doing right now—whether he’s even considered getting his son back, or if he’s already written off the loss.

“I’m cold,” Ben suddenly snivels, curling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself. He sure does that a lot, like he wants to make himself smaller.

This part of the ship isn’t well-heated and their captors don’t afford them any kind of blankets or bedding. The only thing Armitage has to spare is his uniform jacket, though it’s dirty and tattered in places. Still, he unzips the front and slides it off, before draping it over Ben’s shoulders. It leaves him in only his singlet, thin arms exposed to the chill of the cell, but he ignores his own discomfort in favor of Ben.

The younger boy mumbles a small _thanks_ , gripping the edges of the jacket more tightly around himself as Armitage sits back down besides him and holds him close. He feels like he’s not doing enough for Ben—but what else _can_ he do right now?

The hand not wrapped around the little boy’s shoulders drift down to Armitage’s calf, feeling the outline of the salvaged blade through his pants. He’s managed not to cut himself on the deformed edge, eve

It’s hard to wait, especially now when it’s no longer just him sitting here, trying to figure out a way to escape. But he only has one shot with the knife. He needs to make it count.

Armitage can handle all the punches they’ll throw at him until then.

* * *

The sharp scrape of the door against the room’s floor wakes Armitage from a dead sleep, immediately on alert as his eyes snap open. Ben, still resting against his shoulder, whines at the sudden shift, slower to wake. He rubs one of his eyes with his fist and whimpers a soft _Armie?_ but the boy in question doesn’t answer him, instead just pulling Ben close as one of their abductors enter the room.

Scumbreath smirks, his cheeks bunching up around his ugly mouth, like he’s delighting in keeping some cruel secret. Goosebumps prickle on the back of Armitage’s neck, brain quickly supplying him all the awful torments these men might have in mind for their captives.

His face still stings from the blows given to him by Lefty. The bit of his cheek Armitage can see out of the corner of his eyes looks puffy and bruises, though obviously there’s nothing in the room that could help him properly see the extent of the injury. If they hit him again it’ll only slow the healing, but he’ll deal with it if it means he doesn’t have to see cuts and bruises marring Ben’s innocent face.

“So,” Scumbreath starts, leering down at the pair, “turns out Organa wants to see her son before she sends anything. I figure we could give her a little _reminder_ of what’s at stake.”

He raises a cruel-looking tool in his hands, like a pair of scissors with a small, saw-lined curve in each blade. Armitage quickly puts the pieces together, stomach turning in cold revulsion as Ben’s little fingers tighten their grip on his arm.

“Don’t worry. We got enough bacta strips on ship to make sure you don’t bleed to death.” Scumbreath shrugs, like he wouldn’t particularly care if it wound up happening. Hatred burns through Armitage’s veins, and though he just wants to leap up and claws the bastard’s eyes out, he forces himself to think up a plan. He needs to buy them more time.

Ben whines when Armitage rises up in front of him, his hand still grasping at the older boy’s sleeve.

“You know if you harm him, the Senator will not be pleased.” Armitage stands as straight as he can with his injuries, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders. “You bring him to her in pieces and she won’t let you live.”

Scumbreath’s eyebrows rise, taken aback for a moment before he snorts dismissively.

“Big talk, coming from such a skinny brat,” he grunts, taking a step towards both boys. “You really think you know a damn thing about this?”

“It would be stupid to go through so much effort only to wind up dead because you couldn’t resist mutilating a boy half your size,” Hux argues, holding his arms out to the side, as if he could shield Ben from their captor’s eyes. “Don’t do it.”

Scumbreath stares back, stopping in his tracks, and for a moment Armitage thinks maybe his plan’s succeeded. That he’s seeded doubt in their captor’s mind, enough to give Ben’s parents the time to find him before anything serious happens.

Armitage continues to stand firm, even as Scumbreath puffs a tight breath between his lips and shakes his head.

“No one’s ever taught you,” he sneers, “when it’s best to keep your mouth shut, huh?”

Before Armitage can react Scumbreath backhands him with such force that he’s knocked off his feet, falling to the ground with a painful _thump_ that shoves his shoulder up against his jaw. Blood rushes in Armitage’s ears and out the fresh cut in his brow as he spits up on the floor, senses ringing. Above the din of the impact he can hear Ben scream and the man laugh, no doubt brandishing the tool he’s going to used to take the poor kid’s finger.

Unexpectedly, the blow knocks a memory to the forefront of Armitage’s mind of the damasked carpet in his father’s study, of his brain ringing around in his skull, of a strict voice penetrating through it all, reminding him of his failures. It’s such a far cry from the soiled floor of whatever nondescript transport he’s been whisked away to, but the pervading helplessness that rises up inside him is exactly the same.

Armitage coughs, his lungs trembling in pain as his hand clenches into a fist. He grinds it into the ground, cursing his own weakness, the frailty of his stature that makes him unable to defend Ben when he needs it most.

Then he remembers the knife tied around his ankle.

* * *

Ben pulls the uniform jacket tighter about himself and shakes frantically, unable to do anything but sob as the man slaps Armie and sends him flying to the floor. He’s seen them hit Armie plenty of times already but this one looked even worse, and his friend isn’t getting up as quickly as he had before. Ben digs his nails into the filthy sleeves of his shirt as the man steps over Armie’s body, those scary shears slicing tauntingly through the air. A distressed murmurs builds in Ben’s chest at the way the filthy blades reflect the dim light above. They want to cut off his fingers and send them to Mama, they want to hurt him and hurt her and hurt Armie, even more than they’ve already done, and all Ben wants to do is curl up and cry and pretend this is all over, that someone will come and save them.

But before his eyes Armie springs up quicker than Ben’s eyes can follow, one second lying on the floor and the next springing up and lunging into the abductor’s side. The man yells out in pain, stumbling to the side with the force of Armie’s strike. The boy’s thin legs threaten to collapse but he manages to keep himself upright, face a mask of anger and hands wrapped tightly around what looks like a blade without a handle. Ben can see blood on the metal and trickling between Armie’s fingers, and the fabric of the man’s tunic around the sunken tip is starting to wet. For a moment, Ben’s heart leaps as he watches Armie push the knife in deeper, his teeth gritting madly together as he throws all of his might behind the attack.

Then the man’s knuckles slam into Armie’s face, knocking him to the ground once more and this time he doesn’t get up as quickly. He tries to lever himself on his elbows as the man looms above him, but before Armie can do anything to fight back a booted heel kicks him in the chest and he goes back down.

“I’ve _had_ it with you, brat,” he snarls, not even bothering to remove the knife from his side as he straddles Armie’s fallen body. “Organa’s kid is the only one we _really_ need, considering no one’s biting on your ransom.”

He presses down atop Armie, wrapping his hands around the boy’s throat and squeezing until Ben thinks he’ll pop his eyes right out of his skull. Armie tries to scream but all that comes out is some horrible choking noise that makes Ben sick and horrified as he watches, legs too numb to stand. Armie’s nails scrape against the back of the man’s hands, leaving long red marks as he violently struggles beneath him. His knees curl up as he tries to kick the man off of him, but he’s got Armie helpless, already strangling the life out of him. After a couple seconds his movements grow weaker, the intelligent eyes that had convinced Ben everything might be alright after all nearly rolling back into his skull. Armie twitches, teeth biting through pink foam on his lower lip as their captor crushes his throat.

Tears blur Ben’s vision, and he’s so _scared_ , the big man is going to kill Armie and he can’t do anything about it, he’s so _scared_ and _weak,_ he can’t even save the boy that’s protected him all this time, taken punches meant for him, given him a shoulder to cry on and comforted him as he complained about the cold—he grits his teeth and shakes his head, anger tinting through his fear, why’s he so weak, so weak, so _weak_ —

A scream tears through Ben’s lips, breaking open the ball of uncontrollable energy building inside of him. The air around him suddenly crackles, as if imbued with the energy of some invisible generator. Ben blinks rapidly, clearing away his tears as he lifts his head to find the the man who’d been strangling Armie forced upright. His teeth are gritted and his face is reddish and straining, as if struggling against invisible bonds. Ben doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, but he understands that he’s afraid of— _no_ , that he _hates_ the man, hates him for bringing him here, for locking him up, for taking Ben away from his Dad and Mama.

_For hurting Armie._

Another furious cry tears from Ben’s throat and the man’s body jerks, intangible strength throwing him across the room and against the door. His side _slams_ into the rusted durasteel, clanging it back against the door jamb before he falls to the ground, spasmodically twitching as red starts to pool beneath him. Armie’s blade sits sunk in almost all the way, smeared handle just barely sticking out of his body.

Ben pants, his entire body trembling with newfound energy as he watches the downed man, as if waiting for him to try to get up, to come at them again. But he doesn’t move at all, except for when his head tips back against the floor to reveal the whites of his eyes as they roll up into his skull.

 _Good_ , a dark voice inside Ben’s mind says at the sight. For a moment the room around him starts to withdraw, replaced by creeping void that almost feels like a reassuring hug, but a hoarse cough snaps him out of it.

“A-Armie—“ Ben cries, trying to stand up and get to his friend—but the moment it does the entire ship _rocks_ , sending him falling face first. His vision spins as he whacks his forehead against the floor, a sharp whine pulling from his throat. His entire body tingles when he tries to push himself up, but suddenly his head feels heavy.

Before Ben can catch himself he pitches forward again, blacking out before he hits the ground.

* * *

Once the man’s hands closed about his neck, Armitage hadn’t expected to wake back up again.

So when his eyes do flutter open, brilliant white ceiling drifting into view, it’s a bit of a surprise. So are thesoft blankets cradling his body and the bandages, though the presence of his father standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, is a lot less of a pleasant one. Armitage’s heart twitches at the sight, but when he tries to speak up and say anything—an explanation, an excuse, a sob—nothing but rasping comes out.

Armitage supposes he should feel relief at being alive, at apparently _escaping_ the grasps of his kidnappers, but even recuperating in a hospital bed, all he can think about is whether _Ben_ is alright.

It’s hard for him to keep his usual impassive expression up, considering everything he’s been through, but before he can correct it he hears his father scoff.

“All this trouble.” Brendol looks down his nose at him,as if disdaining the very air they share. “For what? Some Republic-born boy?”

Armitage swallows. It hurts to. He tries holding himself together under his father’s scrutiny, expecting a tirade or a strike, but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t even bother to cross to the bed where Armitage lies.

“Senator Organa thanked you for your efforts,” Brendol continues, already half out the hospital room door. “Don’t let it get to your head and distract you.”

In a little over a day Armitage is well enough to walk, so his father discharges him from the hospital, as if remaining within Republic walls might suck the leftover life out of him. He urges Armitage along with a hand on his shoulder, leading him towards a transport that will no doubt take him back to the Academy, where he can resume the life that’d been abruptly interrupted by the incident.

Armitage ascends the gangplank behind his father, resisting the urge to look back as the passage seals them inside. His throat tightens, the bruises cloaked around it only now starting to yellow and heal. The air onboard the transport is recirculated and stifling, and he should be used to it by now. It reminds him a little of the cramped room he’ll never forget, the boy that clung to his side like he was the only tangible thing in the galaxy, the only one who Armitage had ever put so much on the line for.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever see Ben again. He wishes he could’ve.

But at least he’s _safe_ , back with his parents, and that’s something Armitage will hold onto for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Tumblr](http://thethespacecoyote.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heir_of_breath7/).


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